The Exchange: After The Firm

The Connaught was a legendary London hotel in the heart of Mayfair. Mitch had never stayed there because he couldn’t afford it and Scully wouldn’t expense it. Its elegant bars offered the priciest drinks in town. Its restaurant had three Michelin stars. Its staff was a study in tradition and precision.

Sir Simon looked right at home in the main tea room, with a platter of fancy sandwiches on the table and a pot of tea ready to pour. He was with a friend, a dapper little man at least his age or older. He introduced him as Phinney Gibb.

Riley knew him and was immediately suspicious. As Sir Simon explained to Mitch, Phinney had been a deputy minister of some variety back in the Thatcher years and was still connected. One look at the old guy, though, and it was hard to believe he was connected to anything but his pearl-handled cane.

Mitch went silent as Sir Simon laid out a plan. Phinney could still work the back channels and had contacts in the prime minister’s office. He also knew a ranking secretary in the Foreign Office. Mitch and Riley exchanged glances. They’d had a full day with important secretaries. And, on top of that, Phinney knew Libya’s ambassador to the U.K.

Phinney was confident he could arrange a meeting with the prime minister’s office. The goal, of course, was to convince the PM that the government should pay some of the ransom to rescue a British citizen.

Mitch listened hard, sipped tea that he had never learned to enjoy, nibbled on a cucumber sandwich, and worried once again that too many people were getting involved. And the more they met and the more they listened, the more time was being wasted. It was Tuesday evening. Six thirty-five. Two days down, eight to go, and the ransom pot was still empty, except for Luca’s commitment.

Phinney prattled on about what a fine fellow the Libyan ambassador was. Riley asked if he could arrange a meeting the following day. Phinney would certainly try, but there was a good chance the ambassador was not in London.

Inviting Samir Jamblad to Rome was a calculated risk. Under the guise of an old friendship, Luca asked him to come for a visit and he implied that it might be their last. Thirty years earlier they had often worked together and had enjoyed many long dinners together in Tripoli, Benghazi, and Rome. Luca had known back then that Samir was a government informant, as were many professionals and businessmen in Libya, and he had always been careful with his words. Now, desperate for information about his daughter, he hoped Samir might know something Crueggal and the others did not.

Samir arrived in time for dinner. Roberto Maggi met him at the door, introduced him to Bella, and escorted him to the veranda where Luca sat on a leather stool, his wheelchair nowhere to be seen. They greeted each other like old friends and got through the necessary chatter about the beautiful weather and so forth. Samir expected to find Luca pale and gaunt and he was not surprised. A server brought a tray with three small glasses of white wine. They sat on the table, untouched.

Luca nodded off. Samir glanced at Roberto, who frowned and kept talking about Italian football. A few minutes passed and Luca was still asleep.

“I’m sorry,” Roberto whispered. He waved Bella over and said to her, “He needs to rest. We’ll have dinner in the kitchen.”

When Luca was gone, Roberto and Samir picked up their wineglasses and took a sip. Roberto said, “I’m sorry, Samir, but he’s very ill. His doctors think he has less than ninety days.”

Samir shook his head as he gazed across the rooftops of Rome.

“Of course, the stress of Giovanna’s abduction is not helping things.”

“I wish I could do something,” Samir said.

The nagging question was: Should the Libyans know that the terrorists had contacted Scully? It had been debated back and forth between Luca, Mitch, Roberto, Jack, Cory, and Darian until there was no way to reach an agreement. Those who thought so argued that the Libyan government, or simply Gaddafi, could help facilitate a release and make himself look good in the process. Those who disagreed did so out of utter distrust of the Libyans. Who could possibly know what Gaddafi would do if he knew the kidnappers were demanding ransom in his own kingdom?

Compounding the issue was the apparent plan by Gaddafi to destroy Barakat and his forces, regardless of cost or casualties. If Giovanna got caught in the crossfire, then so be it.

Mitch had made the decision.

“Can you tell us anything new?” Roberto asked.

“I’m afraid not, Roberto. From what I gather, the military is convinced it’s the work of Adheem Barakat, a nasty character with a growing army. But there’s been no contact, as far as I know. As always, in Libya information is tightly controlled.”

“Why can’t the army liquidate Barakat?”